"Yes..."
I smiled — sheepish, guilty, yet bright with sudden rising hope.
"My talent."
Strange truth: those simple words grew heavier and heavier every single time I spoke them aloud. Like carrying something rare and precious… yet also dangerously fragile, balanced carefully between gift and trap.
Draven studied me for a long, quiet moment — grey eyes weighing every flicker of expression, every catch of breath — before finally rising slowly from his heavy leather chair.
Morning sunlight flooded freely through tall window‑panes, following every step he took across the room, gilding dark hair and sharp jawline… yet somehow that warm glow only made him look harder, colder — and far more dangerous. Like sunlight striking the edge of a drawn blade.
"I'd like your assistance."
I blinked rapidly — mind tripping over simple words.
"Assistance?"
"In my investigation regarding Stephen… and everything tangled around it." He spoke steady, clear, absolute.
